Dear Delia,

I think perhaps vampires are too solitary to have a collective noun. If they do have one I feel sure it couldn't possibly be a gaggle; that seems much too undignified for such imposing creatures. I suppose they could be a colony, like bats? I'm afraid I was never very taken with horror stories myself, but I dare say Mr Stoker might have penned an answer to your query in 'Dracula', should you be of a mind to search for it!

You aren't a handful at all and I have never known you to be the least bit gruesome. I think the cubs' desire says far more about the minds of young boys than it does about yours! I am quite sure they could find a way to make a lesson on origami into something ghoulish, so you mustn't take it personally. I expect you very innocently offered to explain the cardiovascular system or teach them how to keep a wound clean properly and the little imps let their imaginations run away with them.

It was the same way in the camera session. Out of all the photos that came out properly (a few were spoilt by over exposure or blurred by someone moving too soon and one was completely crushed when young Alfie tripped over his own feet and flattened his camera by sitting on it) in all but four of them the subject of the picture was pulling the strangest face he could possibly manage given the physical limitations of muscle and bone. We have a series of crossed eyes, lolling tongues, puffed out cheeks and snubbed noses, in spite of the fact that whenever Fred or I were actually watching them the boys seemed to be posing as sweetly as angels. Although Fred might not have been such a good influence as I believed at the time, as when Timothy brought the photographs round to show me I discovered that the urge to grimace when faced with a camera does not go away with age and one of the shots included Fred himself with his thumbs in his ears as unabashedly as a ten year old! They are all rather comical, but certainly not the most flattering pictures! Unfortunately I couldn't get a decent group shot either (alas the one that looked to be most promising was also the one that Alfie landed on when he fell over) so I haven't sent you one this time. I wouldn't want to put you off the boys by showing you want seems to be a parade of little monsters! They may be a bit rambunctious but they really are very sweet children at heart. Perhaps if I can persuade Timothy to bring his camera when we hold our Christmas performance I will be able to send you a better photo of them then.

As for knowing what I look like, well that is easily remedied. I am taller than you by about half a head and my eyes are blue. If you ever did chance to see me on the street you could be sure to know me by my hair, with is rather a vivid shade of red (I hated it as a child, but have become fond of it in the last few years). I'm afraid the only suitable photograph of myself I could find was the one they took when I started training at The London, so I'm in uniform and looking quite sombre and formal, but I have enclosed it anyway so that you might know my face. I hope it will suffice?

It's so kind of you to think of me, but you really needn't send me a Christmas present you know Delia, although should you decide to send a letter or a card I would be very glad to have it. It is funny that you should think of a scarf though; especially a red one! You see I lost mine some weeks ago and have been going along without one since. I am certainly not opposed to woolly things, especially home made ones. They are much cosier than designer silk, and the care and attention that goes into them makes them much more valuable to my mind that something churned out by a factory or tailor! Oh, speaking of which, Fred has finally had to concede defeat on his Buckle sprouts, much to the relief of Sister Monica Joan (and, although I feel a little mean to poor Fred for saying so, myself and probably everyone else at Nonnatus House as well, although none of us are so vocal about it). She has suggested we give the remaining eight pounds of sprouts as a donation to the infants' school to be used as marbles. I imagine instead they will go to the church to be distributed to those families that need them, but I'm afraid I must confess that as long as they don't find their way onto my plate I don't mind where the blasted things go. I hope you won't think me callous, but there are only so many days in a row one can smell sprouts boiling before one wants nothing so much as to throw them out the window.

Trixie was most displeased about the whole affair last night. In spite of the cold she had finally convinced Barbara and I to go out dancing with her for the first time in weeks, only to discover that the smell had even permeated our wardrobes. She honestly looked tempted to seek out Fred and give him a firm slap when she sniffed the collar of her newest dress and discovered the telltale cabbage-y odour on it. She says 'what's the good of dressing up to the nines when any chap that gets near enough to catch a whiff will instantly be put in mind of his grandmother's kitchen?'.

Although I must say that none of the chaps she spoke to seemed to be in the slightest bit put off by whatever slight trace we might have been unable to get rid of with the good airing out the window and spray of perfume we gave the clothes before putting them on. Trixie is a very glamorous and engaging dance partner, so I imagine nothing was further from their minds than their grandmother's cooking when she bestowed her presence on them! I found I was quite the gooseberry last night actually, as Trixie was in her element and even shy Barbara was exchanging blushes with a sweet young man named William who had just arrived from Cornwall and had a beautifully accomplished Waltz.

I'm afraid on this occasion I will have to side with your mother, on one thing at least - December probably is not the best time to be paddling barefoot in a stream! The last thing you want is to be back in bed because you've caught pneumonia, especially so close to Christmas. Better to save that particular pleasure for spring and enjoy the activities unique to winter while they are with us. Perhaps you could build a snow man? Or if the weather there is like London and you are getting a series of freezing rain showers rather than snow, bake Christmas biscuits instead. I have it on good authority that you particularly like cinnamon and nutmeg and Christmas is the perfect excuse, even if it is still some weeks away.

As to the rest – I'm so glad to hear you're well enough to be out and doing things again! I remember when we were training together and you came down with flu, you were quite irrepressible in your desire to get up, even when you were feverish and too dizzy to stand without hanging onto something. I can't imagine how much more frustrating this must be for you. I know it isn't a great deal of comfort, but I want you to know that I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that you will get back your independence, whatever else happens. You are very far from helpless even now, so when you have rested a little longer and regained your physical strength, there's no reason you should still be there thinking of nothing beyond the vegetable garden, unless that's what you want. And in the meantime, I will gladly send you as many stories as you like to help stave off the boredom of recovery.

Love,
Patsy

... ... ...

Dearest Delia,

Oh my darling one, you didn't make me cry. The absence of you made me cry. I'm sorry the only memory you have left of me is that one, my moment of weakness and emotion when I should have been being strong for you, instead of something that would make you feel safe.

I wrote to you that I lost my scarf, but the truth is, Sister Winifred found it in the road after you were taken to hospital and returned it to me the same night. The reason I have been going about without a scarf is that I can't bear to wear it and have it lose the trace of your perfume that still clings to the fibres. It is wrapped up carefully in the back of my drawer, and whenever I particularly miss you or have a day that makes me long to be able to rest my head on your shoulder and escape the world I take it out and bury my nose in it for a moment or two, just so I can pretend you're there.

I was in agonies over that photograph. I have so few and none of them seem sufficient to try and give you a sense of the woman you loved; not when you don't have the background to go with it. I know it is quite ridiculous but I feel so nervous over it, as if you will be looking and judging me on it. Will you find me worthy? Will you see past the blandly presented appearance to whatever spark it was that made you love me in the first place?

I love you Delia.

Yours always,
Patsy